Easy Eh
by Raeving.onwards
Summary: Matthew Williams is a shy, invisible, teenage boy, only trying his best to fit in. But what will happen when a rumor about an imaginary scandal gets out of control? PruCan AU based solely off of the movie Easy A. Idea from tumblr user iraya's fanart :)
1. Chapter 1

**PART ONE**

Matthew took a deep breath, adjusted his webcam, and with the click of a button the red recording light flickered on. His face appeared on the screen before him, staring back at him with those same dark blue eyes and chin-length blond hair, which he now tried to tuck behind his ears. He pushed up his glasses and nervously cleared his throat.

"The rumors of my promiscuity," he began. "have been greatly exaggerated. I used to be anonymous. Invisible to any potential mates, male _or_ female. If Google Earth were a guy, he couldn't find me even if I was dressed up as a ten-story building. Pretty cutting-edge plot, huh. A dorky, bisexual high school guy, feeling anonymous. 'Who am I, what does it all mean, why am I here?'...Okay, don't worry. This isn't one of _those_ tales. Although, it sure started out that way. And then it changed pretty quickly when I started lying about some very personal things. So."

He grew braver as he continued talking, convinced this was a good idea. Everyone needed to know his story. Matthew nodded confidently at the camera.

"Let the record show that I, Matthew Williams, being of sound mind and...average muscle size, swear to tell the truth. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Starting now. And what better way to share my private thoughts than to broadcast them on the internet?" He grinned, grabbing the sign he has made. "So here it is. Part One: The Shudder-Inducing And Cliched, However Totally _False_ Account of How I Lost My Virginity To a Chick in Community College. Let me just begin by saying that there are two sides to every story. And this is my side. The right one."

/

Alfred made a noise of indignation and flailed, accidentally knocking the books out of Matthew's arms. The latter sighed and stooped to pick them up as Alfred whined loudly.

"I mean, Ivanna is _not_ a sexy name," he protested. "That's, like, your grandmother, not the name you want to scream out during climax."

A familiar hand was offered to Matthew as he struggled to stand with an armful of books. The hand belonged to none other than , their kind-hearted and fun - albeit bossy - English teacher. He raised an eyebrow at Alfred as he helped Matthew to his feet.

"And by that, I assume you mean...?"

"The stable and self-perpetuating end stage of the evolution of a plant community," Matthew continued, covering for Alfred's butt yet again. "Why, what were you thinking?"

"The same," replied with a grin. "But I wouldn't say it aloud lest someone get the wrong idea. I think you know that innuendo is attached to everything these days, hm?"

"Innuendo?" Alfred feigned innocence. "Why, Mr.K, whatever do you mean?"

Matthew hit him. Alfred kicked him in reply.

"Matthew, go hit the books. They don't hit back." As if suddenly remembering he was a teacher, Kohler sobered up and pretended to look down upon the students. "Also: hugs not drugs, mess with the bull get the horns, and uh, any other cliches you can come up with."

"Bye, ," Matthew chuckled, watching him walk away and adjusting the books against his chest.

"Bye," echoed Alfred.

"Watch your mouth next time," Matthew insisted upon his best friend, rolling his eyes.

"_Sorry_," Alfred apologized facetiously, sticking his tongue out.

/

"Mr. Mathias Kohler is my favorite teacher," Matthew reminisced into his webcam. "Although, after all the trouble I caused, I'm not sure if I'm still his favorite student. And right after that incident? That was where the trouble began. The lie that started the whole thing..."

/

"Please. _Please_," Alfred tugged on Matthew's sleeve, throwing a small fit. "I'm begging you, Mattie, please, I will _pay you_."

"Al, I'm sorry!" Matthew shrugged noncommitally, swatting his friend from his jacket. "I can't go camping with you, I told you. I have a date."

"Oh? With who?"

"You...don't know her," the other mused.

"And neither do you, you selfish bastard," Alfred sniffled.

Protesting, Matthew hit Alfred and responded: "Yes, I do. She goes to college with my older sister, alright?"

"Oh yeah? What's her name, then?"

/

Matthew twirled a pencil as he tried to find the nicest words to describe his best friend. "Alfred has what you would call...a strong personality. A couple of weeks ago he asked me to come camping with his family, and I don't know why I didn't want to go. A little because I didn't feel like hanging out with him. All weekend. Also his parents are the _weirdest_ people I have ever met. And we live in California. One time I had dinner at his house, and I swore never again. So I lied and told him I couldn't go because I had a date with a friend of my sister, named..."

/

"Ivanna," Alfred repeated. "Let's just face it, there is no such thing as a sexy Ivanna."

"Yeah, well, mine is. So let's just put this conversation to bed."

"Fine. Don't come camping with us. Just know that I hate you, bastard."

Matthew rolled his eyes again. He was such a drama queen.

/

"And so, here's a dissection of how I really spent the weekend. Friday I got a card from my uncle, but it played Pocketful of Sunshine when you opened it which is, easily, the worst song ever. Saturday I brushed Papa's cat and listened to the song because, hey, what else did I have to do? Okay, well, let's just say by Sunday night I was dancing around in my pajamas to a singing card. Which, judge me as you may, is pretty sad. But, on Monday, when Al asked me how my weekend was..."

/

"She was cute. Very ladylike, y'know, classy," Matthew lied as he and Alfred walked down the halls. He couldn't get that godawful song out of his head, though. "She was like, I got a love and I know that it's all mine."

"Right right right, okay, but are you going to see her again dude?" Alfred asked, totally buying it, grinning widely at his friend.

"Oh, well, yeah probably not. It was just one of those weekends."

"A...whole weekend?"

"Yup," Matthew responded, shifting his backpack on his shoulder.

"Whoa. Whoa, wait a minute." Alfred stopped him, pushing his shoulder. "You didn't...?"

"What? No. Oh, no."

"You liar," the other squealed. "Oh my god you totally lost your virginity to her! Aw, dorky lil' Matthew, all grown up-"

"No, Alfred, I didn't-!"

"Yes you did! Tell me everything."

"Alfred, I'm not that kind of guy." He looked his best friend in the eye seriously, raising his eyebrows. Him? A one-night-stand stud? He wasn't sure if he was even straight enough for that. His sexual identity had an asterisk next to it. Bisexual** (with a preference for guys).

"What, the kind of guy who does it, or the kind of guy who does it and then doesn't tell his wingman and best bro, huh?"

"_What?_ C'mon!"

"I want every detail! Right now, bastard!" Alfred insisted, dragging him into the nearby bathroom passive-aggressively, ignoring the looks that they received.

"Al!" he sighed as they came to a halt in front of the sinks. "You call me bastard a lot. It's not really a term of endearment."

"I want every detail, _now_, fuckhead," Alfred amended.

"You're not heading in the right direction with that one," Matthew mumbled angrily.

"_Tell me!_" Alfred barked. Yeesh, he could be scary when he wanted to. The other blonde took a deep breath, grimacing.

"Fine! We did it," he snarled, crossing his arms. With those four words he could feel the lie growing bigger and more out of control, but Alfred pumped a fist in the air and cheered.

"Yes! Finally! Now you're a stud like me."

"I don't think letting Lovino give you a blowjob behind a Bed Bath & Beyond qualifies you as a 'stud'," Matthew sulked.

"There were a lot of people walking past, someone could've easily seen," Alfred defended. "Whatever, this isn't about me. This is about you. What'd you let her do?"

"It was, uh, normal." He scratched the back of his head, trying not to meet Alfred's eyes. "Nothing...freaky..."

/

"I don't know why I did it. I guess maybe it was because for the first time in my life, I felt superior to Alfred F. Jones. I just started piling on lie after lie. It was like setting up a game of Jenga."

/

Just at that moment, a strawberry blond appeared from a stall, aggressively washing his hands as he stared down the two boys, discussing Matthew's sexual experience. He was loathsome, from his ironed button-down shirts and cardigans to the freckles that spattered his face. Eventually Alfred slowly turned to meet his eyes, narrowing his own.

"What the hell are _you_ lookin at, Father Christian?"

"Just a couple of admitted bisexual man-sluts," he replied haughtily, turning his nose up and walking out with purpose.

/

Matthew continued his story with a sneer on his face. "Oliver Kirkland is the secretary of the student council, chairman of the Orange Blossom Dance Committee, and president of the Cross Your Heart club- a club dedicated to shoving their beliefs down peoples' throats. Last year's 'cause' was the changing of the school mascot: The Blue Devils. Now, thankfully, we are the much less intimidating...Woodchucks."

/

Matthew and Alfred sat in the stands, watching as a white-haired boy in a furry woodchuck costume appeared, yelling ferociously and wheeling a wheelbarrow of wood in front of him.

"Go Woodchucks!" he screamed, picking up a piece of wood and pretending to gnaw on it. The crowd wasn't buying it, watching him with varying expressions of disbelief and pity for the poor mascot. Alfred leaned over closer to Matthew.

"I liked Gilbert much better when he was topless and painted blue."

"Yeah, but even dressed as a woodchuck I still fantasize about him," the other replied frankly, cocking his head. Alfred laughed and nudged him, nodding.

They shared a look of horror as Gilbert tried to dunk a basketball and fell flat on his face from the hindering costume.

/

"But now," Matthew massaged his temples at the mere memory, finally looking up at the webcam. "Oliver had a new cause: me."


	2. Chapter 2

**PART TWO**

"Which brings us to Part Two..." Matthew readied the next sign, holding it for the camera to see. "The Accelerated Velocity of Terminalogical Inexactitude. Which is really just my obnoxious way of saying that lies travel fast. And boy, did my terminological inexactitude accelerate with velocity."

/

Matthew glanced around as he wandered over to his locker. Was it just his imagination, or did someone keep saying his name? Were there any other Matthews at this school? He wasn't sure. But then, something was whispered loud enough for him to catch the end of it:

"...fucked some girl in community college. Can you imagine? A guy as shy as him-..."

"I always thought he was gay."

Suddenly a wave of anger and embarrassment washed over him, and he gritted his teeth and slammed his locker shut, whirling around only to find himself face to face with a certain freckly blond, who was smiling smugly. Next to him was his best friend (though many might be inclined to call him a henchman), Roderich Edelstein, looking down on Matthew with an upturned nose.

Oliver smiled saccharinely. "Maybe next time, a certain somebody will be a little more careful what he says in the watercloset."

In that moment, a million thoughts of regret passed through Matthew's mind. Quickly he backtracked, trying to dispel the rumor before it got any bigger. "Yeah, about that, it's actually not what you think."

The small, chubby Christian raised a well-groomed eyebrow patiently, but Matthew cleared his throat and glanced at Roderich. "Can I, uh, talk to alone for a second?"

"You'll be alright?" Roderich asked.

"Fine, thank you," Oliver purred, dismissing him with one of those weird club hand signs. It was almost like the Christian mafia, the way Oliver ran it. Roderich looked scathingly at the other briefly before flouncing away.

"Bye, Roderich!" Matthew called after him, rolling his eyes discreetly. Gosh, what a prick. He turned back to Oliver, exhaling deeply. "Uh, what you heard in the bathroom the other day wasn't true. At all. It's actually a pretty funny story..."

"Matthew," he said slowly, interrupting him. "That's your name, right?"

"Yeah. And you're Oliver." He didn't have time for this. "We've had nine classes together since kindergarten. Ten, if you count Religion of Other Cultures, which you didn't, because you called it science fiction and refused to go."

"Yeah," Oliver mused politely. Matthew was sure he hadn't heard a single word to come out of his mouth. "Listen, I'm not the one you have to answer to for your deprave behavior. There's a Higher Power that will judge you for your indecency."

"Tom Cruise?" the other sighed sarcastically.

Oliver smiled as if he knew something that Matthew didn't. "Y'know, I hope for your sake that God has a sense of humor."

"Oh, I have seventeen years worth of anecdotal proof that He does."

"You've made your bed, Matthew," the strawberry blond stepped away slightly. "I just hope for your sake that you've cleaned the sheets."

And with that, he floated away, back to Roderich and the rest of his gang of Bible-thumpers.

"Did I just get saved?" Matthew yelled after him.

/

"So, Oliver spread the rumor. And for the first time ever, my sexual exploits were at the top of the school." Matthew looked up suddenly, remembering something. "Oh, you know what? I'm wrong. This was the second time. The first time was back in eighth grade, when all I wanted was a kiss from this guy I had always had a crush on. Finally, after some prodding from his brother, Gilbert and I were thrown together in seven minutes of heaven. Luckily, we had a super-romantic song from our youth to set the mood..."

/

Matthew, wavy blond hair spilling over his face, looked carefully up at the attractive, white-haired boy. They sat cross-legged on Peter's bed, shifting awkwardly in the silence. Don't Cha was playing in the background, which was extremely ironic in that Gilbert was still about halfway in the closet. That probably explained why this guy- who was normally so macho and up front -was now staring shyly at his shoes and biting his lip.

"I think this is the part where you're supposed to stick your tongue in my mouth," Matthew said quietly, grinning. "That's what I've heard, anyway."

Gilbert chuckled and swallowed nervously. "Just, gimme a second, okay?"

"According to my watch, you have three hundred and eighty two of them," Matthew said boastfully, tapping his wrist.

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Add so fast." The nervous boy rubbed his pale arms. "And you also talk like a grown-up, dude."

"Don't worry. I'm not nearly as smart as I think I am."

Gilbert smirked as his shoes, finally relaxing a little. "So, if we didn't do anything...could you still tell people we kissed?"

Matthew smiled, but his heart deflated. "Hah, absolutely."

"Thanks, Matthew."

"Sure, Gil."

/

Matthew snapped himself back from his little daydream, shrugging. "Except, I actually didn't want to lie that time. Although, when people thought I kissed someone they didn't really care. But when they thought that I slept with someone...Well, all I could think to myself was 'Great, now I'm a whore. I'll have to get a tattoo and go to sleazy bars to pick up girls'."

/

Matthew played with the food on his plate, sitting next to his younger sister, Michelle. He didn't often broadcast it to the world, but his parents were gay, similar to him. He and his older sister Madeline were born through a surrogate through their Papa (for that's what they called Francis), but his younger sister was adopted. She had espresso skin and dark brown hair that stuck out from the otherwise blond family.

His dads bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up. Well, Papa was cleaning up. Matthew's other dad, Arthur, stood sipping a glass of wine and subtly watching his spouse's ass.

"You guys know that I was here all weekend, right?" Matthew asked finally. The two of them looked at him, then at each other.

"Yes." Papa replied.

"Yes, you were upstairs," Dad confirmed.

"You would testify to that?" Matthew asked.

"Of course, cher. I would take a bullet for you, you know that?" The Frenchman winked charismatically. "Right between the eyes."

"That's not necessary, Papa," he replied. "But it is very comforting."

"That's how I roll," he continued in a very bad American accent. Matthew grinned at him.

"I like your pants, Mattie," Michelle chirped.

"Thank you," responded the other sibling earnestly. "They're from Costco. You can have them when you get a little taller, if you want."

"I'm never gonna go through puberty," Michelle sulked as Dad heaped vegetables onto her plate.

"Of course you will, love," he soothed. "We're a family of late bloomers. Papa didn't go through it until he was fourteen, nor did Matthew."

"And why does that matter? I'm adopted!"

Francis slammed a cupboard facetiously. "Mon dieu! Who told you?!"

The kids looked at each other and giggled. Arthur rolled his eyes and tried to fight a grin as Francis continued.

"We were going to do this at the right time! Listen, Michelle, sometimes even when two people love each other very much- like your Dad and I used to -their bodies just don't cooperate with each other."

Their Dad kicked Francis before pecking his cheek. He turned to his son, cocking his head. "What's going on, Matt? Why do you want us to take a bullet if anyone asks if you were here all weekend?"

"It's nothing. Just the rumor mill."

"Hm, and what's the rumor mill churning out these days?" He leaned forwards, watching Matthew push his food around a little more. "Anything interesting?"

"Y'know, not really," Matthew replied lightly. "It's a little low on grist."

"Ooh, clever wordplay," Papa purred as he scraped some leftovers onto a plate. "I like it very much, you must be related to me."

"You're the only one I'm related to in this family, Papa."

Francis made a noise of agreement.

"So, what're we all going to take away from this? I was here all weekend, right? Right."

/

"Remember how I said Google Earth couldn't find me if I was dressed as a ten-story building? Well, the next day it could find me if I was dressed as a crack on the sidewalk. That's the beauty of the entire high school thinking you were gay. People heard you had sex with a girl once and bam! You're a manwhore. I really didn't mean for the lie to put me on the map, but I gotta admit I kinda liked being on the map." Matthew shrugged. He stretched his arms before going on. "Ironically, in English class, we were studying The Scarlet Letter. Isn't that always the way? The books you read in class always have seem to have some strong connection to whatever angsty adolescent drama is going on. Except for maybe Little Women. I've never seen anyone get in trouble trading limes before."

Matthew paused for a moment, a little embarrassed he knew the plot to Little Women. He shook his head. "For those of you who haven't read The Scarlet Letter- or for those who said you did, but really didn't -here's all you need to know: This girl named Hester Prynne has an affair with the minister, is besmirched and made to wear a red 'A' for adulterer. But, then the town realizes she was too harshly judged, and she's a really good person, and she dies a saint. A whole bunch of other stuff happens too. If you have a test on it, rent the movie. But make sure it's the original, and not the Demi Moore version where she talks in a fake British accent and takes a lot of baths. To say that one was freely adapted is, ah, a bit of an understatement."

/

Matthew sat in English, listening patiently to the handsome, spiky blond-haired teacher lecturing animatedly about The Scarlet Letter, his students staring up at him in rapture. He was cool, he knew how to talk to his kids. Although Matthew had already read many of the books on this year's reading list, he was still learning a lot.

"What we've got to realize," continued, "Is that Hester lived in an entirely different time. A time when the worst crime a woman could commit was, in fact, adultery."

Roderich raised a well-manicured hand.

"Roderich," acknowledged.

"I think Hester Prynne was, excuse my language, a skank."

Matthew had the sudden urge to take the hand the prissy Christian had just raised and smack him upside the head with it. The class mumbled its disbelief. Their fearless leader raised his eyebrows.

"A skank? So you don't think she was a victim at all?"

"Why should I?" huffed Roderich. "She brought it on herself."

As if that wasn't already enough, the brunet slowly turned his head so he could make eye contact with who other than Matthew himself, who was sitting quietly near the back of the class as he always did.

"Perhaps you should embroider an 'A' on your wardrobe, you abominable tramp."

Matthew could feel a blush rising to his face, and he bared his teeth, unable to stop the words from vomiting out: "Perhaps you should get a wardrobe, you abominable twat."

Roderich's jaw dropped, and the class collectively gasped. Oh, no. Had he really just said that? He slowly turned his head to look at , who looked somewhat disappointed. Matthew slunk down in his chair, knowing he was in for it.

/

"Alright, so it wasn't my best line." The honey blond played with a piece of string that was hanging off of his hoodie. "But it was provocative enough to land me in the principal's office."

/

Matthew sat in the main office, waiting for his turn in The Chair of Doom. He swung his legs around and played a game on his phone, trying to take his mind off of the strawberry blond who was boring two holes in the back of his skull while passive-aggressively stapling tests. Why did Oliver have to be an office assistant? It only added to Matthew's pain.

"Seems as if someone's on a downward spiral," Oliver said finally.

"Seems as if someone's practicing the mundane activity he'll be saddled with the rest of his pathetic life," Matthew mocked.

"Just hope, for your sake, you at least had the good sense to use protection," the other snarled (which, in such a high-pitched voice, wasn't very intimidating).

"Why? Your parents didn't."

"You're going to hell," he sputtered.

"Just as long as you won't be there."

"I can assure you, I won't."

"Good," Matthew hissed.

At that moment, two girls walked out of the principal's office. The second had a towel that she held to her nose, which was bleeding. Matthew recognized her vaguely.

"Williams?" sighed the principal. After a moment more of watching the two girls, Matthew got up and followed their white-haired principal in.

"So, why am I just meeting you?" he asked, waving the citation the student had brought with him. "Language like this should've been rewarded with a visit years ago."

"This is the first time I have ever done anything remotely misbehavioral," the blond explained.

"This is foul."

"I know," Matthew exhaled. "I just... I'm really, really sorry."

"Sorry that you said it? Or sorry that you got caught?"

"Sorry I said it! Honestly!" Sorry that Roderich deserved it, too. "Sorry I, y'know, got caught a little bit, too. But mostly just sorry I said it."

"If you use a word like this again in my school, it will be your last, you understand?"

"Yes, sir," he replied earnestly.

"I mean, this isn't one of those progressive schools, where the teachers are called by their first names, and students are 'partners in learning', and there's a fundraising auction at the end of the year where the more creative parents put on musical skits about the community garden!" He leaned forward vehemently. "This is public school. If I can keep the girls off the pole and the boys off the pipe, I get a bonus. Now, if you're sent to me one more time, you'll be out on your tail. Now, am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." Matthew nodded.

"Good."

"I think so," he added to himself. "I mean I got a little lost in the middle, but I, uh, found my way back."

"You have detention after school tomorrow," the principal said over his mumbling. He gestured him out, and Matthew gladly stood and wandered back out into the main office, and then out into the school hallways.

/

"Even though it was my studly alter ego that said a bad word in school, it was my ass that got in trouble." He made a face. "Which was a place my ass had never been before."

/

As he kicked and shuffled his feet sullenly, crossing a patch of grass to start his trek home, a familiar boy in half of a woodchuck costume appeared.

"Hey, Matthew," Gilbert greeted with a smile almost as white as his platinum blonde hair, which stuck up everywhere. He had the head of the costume tucked under one arm.

"Oh my god, the illusion is shattered," Matthew gasped sarcastically, though a grin wormed its way onto his face. "This is exactly why they put you in the gas chamber if you take your head off at Disney World."

"Actually, I think they just fire you," he said. "Which isn't to be said about Disneyland. Disney World is much more liberal."

"Oh yeah, I always forget. Disney World went blue in the last election," the other chuckled.

"Are you going to Peter Kirkland's party?" Gilbert asked in a sudden change of subject.

"I hadn't planned on it."

"Hm, me neither," he responded nonchalantly, casting a look over at the other. Gosh, Gilbert was handsome. "My cousin's getting married, it's her rehearsal dinner. See ya. Stay excellent!"

He turned down a different hallway as Matthew kept walking, the latter not able to shake a smile from his face.

"You too," he muttered after him.

His solace to think about Gilbert and his detention tomorrow didn't last long, though, as Alfred jumped over a decorative wooden fence and accosted his best friend.

"Please tell me the rumors are true," he panted.

"Yes, yes, I am a big fat homo," Matthew flipped his hair from his face facetiously.

"No, not that one!" He waved his hand. "The one where you got suspended for calling Roderich Edelstein a dick, and you punched him in the left eye!"

Matthew paused as the two of them walked to Alfred's car. "I worry about the way information circulates at this school."

He realized this could be his chance to try and dispel some of these rumors, right at the source. He just hoped Alfred wouldn't overreact (as he was known sometimes to do).

"Al, I need to tell you something."

"Like the exact moment you turned into such a badass?" Alfred scoffed, grabbing his friend's cheeks between his hands. "I think I'm in love with you."

"Okay." Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Tell me you at least left a mark on that prissy little face of his?"

The other laughed. "It's not true."

"So it wasn't the left eye?" Alfred squinted at him. "Ooh, it was the right one. I always pegged you for a southpaw."

"Could you listen to me for one second please?"

But Alfred so too busy pretending to hit Matthew in the face, along with sound effects.

"Pow, pow!" the louder friend danced back and forth like a boxer. "Bam!"

"Okay, it didn't happen," insisted Matthew.

"Sure!" Alfred barked a laugh, ruffling the other's hair. "Your secret's safe with me you little sex monkey."

Matthew looked up at his dad as he served him a spoonful of peas.

"I got sent to the principal's today," he blurted.

His dad smiled. "Did you win a medal or something?"

"Not exactly..." he admitted. "I used inappropriate language in English class."

His parents and sister shared a look.

"Although," Matthew added in his defense, "We're reading a book that I deem wildly inappropriate for our age group, so I actually think it was quite apropos."

"What'd you say?" said Arthur incredulously.

Matthew glanced behind him at little Michelle, who was listening to every word they said.

"Let's just say it was an inappropriate word."

"What did it start with?" asked Papa, opening a bottle of wine.

"A snide comment from a snotty guy in my class."

"No, I mean what letter did the word start with?"

"Oh! T," Matthew responded.

"T!" parroted his parents.

"T, let us think." his dad tsked, thinking hard.

The two of them continued to repeat the letter and a variety of vowels after it, making fools of themselves.

"Guys!" Matthew smacked the table.

"Noun, adjective, or verb?" puzzled Arthur.

"Noun," Matthew replied. "Definitely slang. Think British."

"Tallywhacker," Francis blurted, pointing in the air. "Termigoat!"

"Yob...Frast..." Arthur listed. "Nunt..."

Matthew grinned, shaking his head. "You're just sayin' sounds, now."

"Spell it with your peas!" his dad shouted suddenly.

"Oh! Oui, spell it with your peas!" echoed his spouse excitedly. "Do it!"

"I will take that challenge!"

Matthew began furiously pushing the rolly green vegetable around on his plate, not noticing his sister sneaking up behind him.

"So, does this have anything to do with the rumor you mentioned the other night?" asked Papa. The high schooler tapped his nose, nodding.

"Do you need to talk to us about something, chou?"

"What's a...twit?" Michelle asked, craning her neck to see over her brother. Matthew quickly cleared the word from his plate.

"That's an a, love," Dad corrected.

"And it's a word that'll get you sent to the principal's office," added Papa.

"It's a bad word. Go, sit down."

Francis stroked the stubble on his chin as he poured himself and Arthur glasses of wine. "I guess we're lucky that this is not a common occurrence."

"What would my punishment have been, otherwise?" Matthew asked.

"Bed without supper, I guess," his papa responded with a shrug.

"But I'm already finished."

"No dating!" Arthur barked with a laugh.

"Oui, no dating," said Francis, wagging a finger.

Matthew snorted. "Ohh, I think my complete lack of allure already kinda shot that horse in the face. I wouldn't know how to be grounded any more than you know how to ground."

He pushed his plate from him and stood, kissing Papa on the cheek.

"That's right. Love you."

As the high schooler tried to walk away, Francis grabbed his arm. He glanced at Arthur, who seemed otherwise occupied with cleaning dishes.

"Come here." He leant forward conspiratorially. "I bet that boy was acting like exactly what you called him."

"Ugh, you have no idea," Matthew exhaled.

But he had caught the attention of his dad, who raised an eyebrow. Matthew ran over and kissed him too.

"I got a B+ on my spelling test today!" Michelle said from the table.

"That's good, darling, but everything has spellcheck these days," mused Arthur. Of course, at seeing the disappointment wash across Michelle's face, he amended: "Just kidding."

"Where are you from, originally?" Francis asked. Michelle looked at him.

/

"So, the next day I had detention. Which, thanks to recent budget cuts, meant...cleaning." Matthew widened his eyes at the camera dramatically. Finally the face faded and he grinned wryly, shrugging. "I was looking forward to getting all of this behind me. I had done the crime, I was gonna do the time. And that would be that."

/

"Aren't there, like, child labor laws against this?" the girl Matthew was sharing detention with, Elizaveta, snarled.

"Not in high school," he replied with a grunt, mopping furiously. "The principal's, like, the captain of the ship in international waters. He can even marry people."

She grumbled in reply. After a moment of silence, the two spoke again.

"I haven't talked to you in awhile." Matthew rested against his mop. "How've you been, Elizaveta?"

"Fabulous," she sighed, eyes dead. "I'm crushing it. Everything according to plan. I wanna be in detention!"

"Yeah, why are you here?" the other asked, remembering the brunet holding her nose in the office earlier. "Judging by the amount of blood gushing out of your nose, I thought you were the bullied."

"Huh, you'd think. But our principal is a homophobe, which is why I called him a fascist."

"So the rumors are true," Matthew hummed, eying his peer.

She put an indignant hand on her hip. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I meant about the principal being a fascist."

Elizaveta smiled.

"So what's with your new look?" she asked as they cleaned the tennis courts, addressing Matthew's shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and super tight had even tied his hair into a ponytail (though the wispier pieces fell out now) and wore his contacts. "It seems very whore couture."

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Matthew winked. "I'm the new school stud."

"Y'know I did hear something...I also heard she was twice your age."

"Oh!" the other shook his head. "No, no, no. She was a freshman in college."

"I also heard she gave you crabs," said Elizaveta.

Matthew paused in scrubbing to frown. "Ew. People suck."

"Hmph, tell me about it."

As Matthew scrubbed the filth from the stalls in the bathroom, his conscience began to get the better of him. He called out to his friend:

"She's not real."

Elizaveta paused in graffitiing in the stall next to him. "What?"

"The girl I slept with," he sighed. "I made her up."

"Wait, you started the rumors?"

"Indirectly...? I guess. Sort of." Matthew paused, raising his eyebrows in thought. "Actually, no. Not really. No I didn't."

"But you're perpetuating it!" she accused. "That's really messed up."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you're not even a real stud, you just want people to think you are! It's pathetic!"

"Uh, no offense, but you could probably learn something from me," Matthew growled.

"Oh, so are you saying I should act straight, so people will like me?" Elizaveta scoffed angrily. "That's groundbreaking. You should teach a course. It could be called: 'The Painfully Obvious with Matthew Willi-abs - Fake School Slut!"

Matthew laughed, rolling his eyes and emerging from his stall. "I was just suggesting that these kids we call 'peers' are on to something? Y'know, like, Oliver Kirkland! Maybe that whole stuck-up Jesus freak thing is an act!"

"No," Elizaveta stood and made a face, joining Matthew at the sinks. "I think he's just a stuck-up Jesus freak."

"Hm."

"And there are some of us who are just trying to blend into the crowd."

"Well then," insisted Matthew, "You've got to do everything you can to blend in, or decide not to care."

She stared at him in the grimy mirror. "I can't decide if you're a genius or a lunatic."

Matthew grinned maliciously. "Oh, don't they sort of go hand-in-hand?"

/

Matthew and Alfred lay on the top of the latter's car hood, which was parked on a beautiful overlook of Californian suburbia. They basked in the sunlight, gossipping.

"So, have you heard any word from Ivanna?" Alfred cooed.

"Nope," the other replied. "I told you that was a one night stand, which is now over."

"You know, you're being pretty cavalier about this. Aren't you supposed to be eternally in love with her and shit?"

Matthew nodded facetiously. "Yes, yes, I believe so, if I were a Gossip Girl in the sweet valley, with travelling pants. But no, I'm not, so I could really care less."

"Okay, so, Yao Wang was telling Kiku Honda that you were with three chicks in a Jacuzzi," Alfred accused, switching topics like a light.

"Huh, that sounds like a lot of work. I guess that's still better than getting it on with some old lady."

"Ew," his friend made a face. "Who said that?"

"Uhhh, do you know that Elizaveta kid? That's what somebody told her."

"Isn't she a lesbian?"

"Yeah."

At that moment, Matthew's phone began to ring. It played- coincidentally -the same song from that singing card: Pocketful of Sunshine. He reached behind him onto Alfred's dashboard, answering it with a grin.

"Speak of the devil! Hello," he hummed. "I was just talking about you with my friend Alfred."

At his name, the other blond leaned forward, looking expectant.

"You know Alfred. He's, uh, perpetually angry, curses like a sailor, D.H. …"

"D.H., what's D.H.?" Alfred pestered over the rest of Matthew's conversation. "I wanna know, tell me, what is D.H.? Hello? Tell me. D.H. ."

Matthew hung up, swatting away his friend. "What?"

"What is D.H.? Dude Handsome? Dumb Hat?"

"Dick head," Matthew answered.

"That's my identifier? ...Yes!"

The other sighed, rolling his eyes. He would never understand what went on between Alfred's ears. "Alright, well, that was Elizaveta. She wants to talk to me about something."

"Yeah, probably wants to borrow an outfit."

"Hm. Whatever, dick head."

"Heck yeah!" Alfred yelled, pumping his fists at suburbia. "Woohoo! Dick head!"


End file.
